


A Voice as Dark as Coffee

by JazzyKatz



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Achievement City, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Female Reader, Psychoteeth, Ryan the Murderer Guy, Serial Killers, Voice Kink, honestly this started off as something completely different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 11:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20173273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzyKatz/pseuds/JazzyKatz
Summary: It all started as a coffee shop AU that somehow lost all of its wheels and suddenly Ryan’s a serial killer. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯





	A Voice as Dark as Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> I had this in my files for so fucking long, and I decided to finish it today. I hope it's still relevant.

You never really drank coffee. You never really went into a coffee shop unless it was to use the bathroom. You never even gave into the fad of being a hipster and hung around a coffee shop to leech their free wifi so you could check your random bullshit blog or take a picture of your food. Why would anyone take pictures of their food? What the fuck was _ aesthetic _?

You entered the raffle contest with a legitimate goal in mind, to win five thousand dollars. Who didn’t like raffles? It was a perfect opportunity to get a chance to win money without putting little to no effort into it. Just slip your name in the box and fuck off. Though, instead of winning five thousand you came in second place, winning something you really couldn’t see yourself using. But… a one hundred dollar gift card to a local coffee shop in town meant you still won something. Even though you were forced to use it at that one location and couldn’t exchange it for cold hard cash, it was still _ free money _. Might as well use it, right?

Entering the coffee shop gave you a clear definition of what _ hipster _ means, especially when you realize this coffee shop was next to a college campus. You wanted to turn around and leave, maybe stay in the front and pawn off the gift card for actual money like a ticket scalper at a concert, especially because you were not a college student by any means. Technically, you never went to school at all. Private tutoring, but you really didn’t want to think about that.

It was a voice that kept you from leaving, a peppy British drawl that didn’t sound one bit like it was fake. You had a thing for voices, accents, dialects. You were known to listen to ASMR recordings at night just so you could get to sleep. Foreign accents were your favorite. From where the voice was coming from, the sight of him wasn’t half bad either. Not that you based everything on looks, because he was quite goofy looking. Tall and lanky, a good-sized nose on his lightly tanned face. Green eyes, sandy hair. He screamed British.

Actually, he squawked, like a bird, when he almost dropped his tray of cups. It was quite cute, and you hesitantly stepped further into the shop and picked a nice out of the way seat in the corner just to listen in on his voice. He wasn’t exactly quiet, even when he was attempting to be. His whole awkward personality just made it all the more charming.

He finally took notice of you and made his way over after delivering some empty cups into the kitchen, giving you a cheery smile, “What can I get for you, love?” His voice is pretty. You loved it but tried to keep yourself calm, the last thing you wanted was to be captured on camera phone with a dozen hipsters watching you gush over a random British dude.

You show him the gift card, “I actually...don’t know. This was a prize in a raffle and I just, I’m trying something different.”

“Oh, top! I remember that raffle, we’re one of the sponsors. Thank you for stopping by.” God he was so charming it wasn’t funny. You had to inwardly force yourself not to break down in a flurry of giggles. Right, serious. You didn’t come here with a game plan, but as of now you needed one to impress this guy. You were probably one of a million customers, but it didn’t matter, a good impression always works. Or, that’s what your last employer said before he fired you.

“I never had coffee before, so I’m giving you the option of ordering for me.” You managed to say smoothly, smiling reassuringly at his befuddlement. Of course, finding someone who hadn’t tried coffee was like trying to find a diamond in a salt pile. “I’m entrusting you to give me a good experience...Gavin.” You slip in his name for good measure, having taken a quick look at his name tag. “I’m Kate, by the way.”

He recovered quickly from the left-field request that apparently he’d never heard of before and grinned sheepishly at you. “I’m sure I know something that your tastebuds will savor, give me a bit.” He retreated then, with enthusiasm that almost had him tripping over himself. You couldn’t help crack a grin of amusement at that. You’ve done well, in your mind. It was a better impression than most of the ones you’ve made, that’s for sure. Especially given your history.

It’s not that easy, making good impressions on anyone when you couldn’t handle social cues like any normal human being. You didn’t understand simple people things like ‘trends’ and ‘fashion’. You dressed for necessity and comfort, which consisted of steel toed boots and loose jeans, a simple shirt and a coat when needed. Your hair wasn’t well kept as it should be, often looking windblown. If it weren’t for a few close confidants, you wouldn’t really know how to survive in the real world. Things like coupons and discounts and sales were how you survived, becoming a penny-pinching genius because apparently money made the world go round. How you made that money was a secret, but you’ve made it so you could have a comfortable nest egg to fall back on. You apparently came off as a cold bitch to many a stranger, a woman who rarely left her apartment and thrived on raffles and contests, living like an old lady rather than a woman in her late twenties. But then, you couldn’t really do anything else outside of what you understood, because you didn’t grow up with a normal childhood.

If _ that _ was considered a childhood.

Though, in here, you weren’t any of that. You were a normal customer, attempting to get noticed by a lovely British man who was obviously taking time and effort to work on your coffee. You could see him hunched over the counter, doing something that you couldn’t see. He looked so concentrated, as if it was something more important than a simple cup of coffee. You didn’t really understand his dedication of whatever he was doing until he came back and served it to you.

The coffee had a drawing on it. The foam was detailed to look like a flower, a rose? He spent all that time drawing a little rose in the foam, and it looked so delicate. How could you drink something with such a nice drawing? He was obviously watching you, picking up on your hesitance to drink it and chuckling a little. “It’s called foam art, love. That’s what you do with a latte. Go ahead, give it a drink.”

You finally see why someone would take a picture of this, but you lacked a cellphone to do it with. Oh well, your memory was pretty good and you nodded to his words and took the oversized cup, taking a sip. It was like an explosion of flavor that met your tongue, a hot warm experience with sweet notes and hints of spice. Coffee tasted like this? You usually saw it as something strange, like black muck that oozed out of a machine. Never in your life did you experience something this _ decadent _. Was that the right word? Maybe. Possibly. Perhaps definitely.

He saw the reaction on your face, grinning excitedly at your reaction and nodding to himself. “Great, isn’t it? Don’t lie now, you look pretty obvious.” He looked pretty proud of himself, as if he was trying to impress _ you _. Wouldn’t that be funny? You finally set the cup down and give him your best smile.

“It’s perfect, Gavin.” You say, shying your eyes away when you realize you’ve been staring at him for too long. “Thank you for giving me the best experience for a first time coffee drinker.”

He opens his mouth to answer but an employee grabs his attention, calling him back and that’s the last you saw of him. You didn’t think much of it, the cafe was pretty busy at the moment and you enjoy your coffee in peace, already making up your mind on returning. Hell, it wasn’t exactly near your apartment but your time was flexible enough that you could fit in a good venture to the coffee shop for a good cup of coffee and a chance to talk with a charming barista.

You left after paying, and using a small amount of your own money to leave a tip for the service. Upon leaving you could see the object of your curiosity serving people on the outside terrace. You thought about grabbing his attention but decided against it, deciding to play the long game and making your way to the bus stop.

* * *

The second day was possibly the best, in your opinion. He looked quite happy to see you enter through that door, as if he was waiting for you to do just that. You acknowledged his charming smile with a shy smile of your own. Again, you sat in the corner, out of the way from everyone. You did some research when you were at home, using your internet to look up coffee of all things. The different varieties were astounding. You didn’t really know one from the other, and decided to just have him decide for you.

Of course, when you told him that, he looked quite delighted in making a choice for you. Within minutes he returned with something different than yesterday, actually waiting for you to taste it. It was delicious, like the last time. It was sweeter, with delicate hints of peppermint swimming in a warm chocolate pool.

“Are you a student here?” He asks then, deciding to take a seat next to you. He looks around slightly for any notion that any other employee was watching, grinning when the coast was clear.

You shake your head, “I never went to college.” Or any other school, for that matter. He looked curiously at everyone around him before chuckling. You looked confused at his reaction.

“Normally I can tell what a person is, from the first day I assumed you were a student from how young you were, but when you didn’t take a photo of the latte art I was quite relieved.”

You quirk a brow, “Everyone does that?”

He shrugs slightly, “Everyone that comes here, actually. The college has so many art and english majors that someone like me feels in the minority.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t actually own a phone.” You do your best to smile, but the words in this day and age sounded like you just revealed you had a third eye on your belly. He gives you a dumbfounded look for a split second before laughing nervously.

“That’s not fair at all.” He teases you with a smile, “How am I supposed to chat you up if you don’t have a number?”

You really don't expect that comment, at all. This was your second day coming here and already the goofy and cute barista was admitting that he wanted to get your number. Was this a good excuse to get one? You didn’t know if you wanted to take such a big leap into technology when just months ago you managed to get a laptop and basic wifi.

“I have an email address?” You manage to leak out that bit of information. But the good question was which one did you want to give him? You had three of them, all for different purposes.

Well, you did say your name was Kate, so you should probably use that alias.

“I take it you go to this college, then.” You ask curiously, and he nods.

“I need to pay for tuition somehow, love. This isn’t my only job, however. Though that bit’s a secret.” With that he stands, winking at you with those charming green eyes and leaving to actually do his job.

Secrets, they were alluring. You thought that to yourself and drank your coffee. You were sure your secrets would send him running for the hills, but you didn’t plan on letting him in on any of it. You knew how to separate your work and your personal life.

The only time when the lines were blurred was when you went back home. You lived in an apartment in the heart of the city, a simple three story building that blended in so well that sometimes people forgot it was there. Of course, you knew everyone who lived there. You had to, for security reasons mostly. To them you were the Duchess of Discounts, a normal woman who kept to herself and had a good knack for winning raffles. Well, only one person knew a little too much.

His name was Ray, you knew him as your friendly nextdoor neighbor who worked at Gamestop and loved to broadcast himself playing video games in his off time. He’s the main reason you have the basic internet bundle and a good working laptop. He offered to help you on finding a phone, but you still weren’t sure about taking a big leap. Aside from the fact that he liked to flirt with you on a regular basis, he was pretty much someone that you could trust without fearing that he’d give up personal information.

Like the fact that you were a contract killer.

It’s not like you told him over a random visit. Apparently he’s played enough GTA and Hitman to know how things worked. That and he found your hidden weapons while setting up your wifi. He was actually impressed, practically assaulting you with curious questions and honestly admitting that female mercs were hot. You had a small voice in your head telling you to not kill him, because if push came to shove, he could be trusted in house-sitting for you on one of your rare out of town jobs. Besides, you couldn’t kill someone who was adorably nerdy and insisted on buying you copies of games he got with his employee discount.

You lament the fact that you still haven’t played a single game with him, mostly because you didn’t know how it worked. One time he called you a poor deprived soul, and then proceeded to teach you about memes.

You realize upon entering the coffee shop the next day that you never really gave Gavin your email address. However, he wasn’t there when you took a seat in the spot you considered as ‘yours’. An older gentleman with blue eyes and dark blonde hair was taking your order instead, looking amused when you told him to surprise you. He comes back with something entirely different than what you usually have, a caramel macchiato that is savoury and sweet. You watch the older man, finding him quite charming in a ‘model dad from a clothing catalog’ way. His voice is a rich baritone, which was a wisp of fresh air from the voice that belonged to Gavin. Not that you liked him, absolutely not. Ryan was sweet and handsome but you already had a soft spot for the younger Brit.

“Are you enjoying the coffee?” Ryan asks you, coming back with a happy smile on his face.

“I’m happy with your choice, Ryan.” You answer honestly, “May I ask you a question?”

“Anything!” He smiles, hunching over just slightly to listen to you.

“Do you know Gavin?” You ask carefully, watching his expression as it became curious. A small grin formed on his face then. “What?” You tilt your head curiously.

“Oh I know who you are.” He sat down beside you then, “Gavin talks about you all the time now. The lad’s smitten with you.” He chuckled softly, “Here I thought he was some odd duck, but for the past few days he’s been quite attentive. Normally he’s an...idiot.”

It’s hard to imagine that such a bright man was anything but stupid, but then you you knew him for only a couple of days. With a nod, you slip Ryan a piece of paper with your email address, “Can you give this to him the next time you see him? I’d do it myself but I don’t know his schedule.”

Ryan took a quick look at it and nodded, “I’ll be sure to pass it on.” He salutes you then, getting back up to return to his duties.

The email you left him (along with a nice tip) was tied to your more private account. You didn’t expect Ryan to get it to Gavin quickly, so you didn’t bother to check it before one of your contacts sent you a message on your other address. It put a steaming halt to your plans for week, because while you were working there was no time to actually relax.

When you come back home there’s police tape around your apartment floor, and it looks like one of your neighbors has been on the unlucky end of a weapon. You’re terrified, you’re terrified that it was _ his _ apartment and suddenly you panic. The police question you, but your alibi is solid for being out of town at the time, because you always keep receipts for at least two months. You’re allowed back to your own apartment and soon you’re locking yourself inside and checking all your hiding places to make sure everything’s where you left it. Even though you deal with death on a daily basis, knowing that _ he _ had been killed shakes you to your core. Who did it? Why?

It’s hard to relax in this situation, and you fidget. You open your laptop and check your email to distract yourself, finding a note from your recent contact that you have just been paid a nice sum for taking care of his problem. You browse the internet for cat videos for almost two hours before you get bored and check your other addresses. You notice about ten unread emails from a single sender you don’t recognize, and realize quickly that you gave the address to Ryan at the coffee shop, and it meant that Gavin had written to you. When you open them you’re soon graced with shy words, the writing is well spelled and there are quite a good amount of unrecognizable words. British slang seemed to be his strong suit, but with each email that followed the messages become shorter and more worried, and somewhere along the line you remembered that you left the city without a word. You click a button to reply to him, typing out words and quickly deleting them over and over again until you finally typed out ‘sorry, work called me away’. It was true, and you hoped he understood. If he didn’t, you’d see him the next morning.

“I wouldn’t trust him.” A voice startles you from behind, and you almost jump out of your chair. You look around until a faint outline of your recently deceased neighbor makes itself known. He’s sitting on your bed, staring longingly at the game system that you hardly use. “Didn’t your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?” He said then, offering a half-hearted smile.

“Ray?” Christ, the grief was making you hallucinate. You look away but you can still hear him clicking his tongue. Was this really happening, or was this a very elaborate prank that everyone seemed to be on but you. “Aren’t you dead?” You ask again, cautiously looking back at your bed.

“As far as I know.” He shrugs, looking too casual for someone who was murdered just hours ago. “Oh man, you’re seriously letting that X-Box waste away.” He’s inspecting your game system, suddenly looking bothered. “Well shit, I was supposed to stream tomorrow.”

“Do…” You want to ask, you have to ask. If you can see him then that means he’s actually here and this isn’t some sort of mental ward drug hallucination. “Do you know who killed you?” You ask it quietly, too frightened to get up from your chair.

“He had a mask?” Ray thought it over carefully, “Fuck, he probably followed me home from work. All I remember is some dude humming something and then a knife was in me.”

You fold your arms tightly around your body. 

“I’d stay inside for a while, girly.” He says while he’s getting comfortable in your bed again, making you wonder if ghosts could feel comfort. “I’ve been reading about a serial killer in the paper, don’t want you to end up like me.”

“I’m sure I can protect myself.” You answer him honestly, falling quiet when a notification blips on your laptop. You find an email from Gavin, a rushed reply.

_ Don’t work too hard love, you’ll fall over dead. _

Given the situation of your job, and what just happened, the joke wasn’t lost on you.

Ray was suddenly at your side, snorting in amusement at the reply. You almost jump in your seat again, because it’s a fucking ghost and ghosts aren’t real. “This guy’s a riot. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“He’s...not.” You murmur, having a hard time looking at a man who refused to rest in peace.

“You shoulda said something, I mean, before I got killed. You’re pretty hot and I dig mercenary chicks.” He waggles his eyebrows at you, grinning. “Hey, maybe we can reenact the scene from Ghost? Would that count as necrophilia if you had sex with me?”

God, it shouldn’t be as funny as he was making it out to be, and you try not to laugh. Cheesy ghost jokes aside, you were being hit on by a dead man. You were losing it, weren’t you? Your neighbor meets his end and now he’s haunting you from beyond the grave. Was this a good thing or the beginnings of your sanity breaking down? They warned you about cracking on the job, but at the time you thought they were joking. Maybe you put too many bullets in the heads of criminals.

Getting out of the apartment to take a walk was out of the question, because there was a fucking masked killer on the loose and you didn’t know if he’d be around. Though, you had to tell yourself that you were a trained killer yourself, and if anyone should be scared it should be him. It seems to make up your mind and you grab your coat, ignoring ghost Ray’s warnings and leaving the apartment.

It was depressing to see police tape on your friend’s door, and you look away as you pass through. No one was out, not even the insomniacs that wander the streets outside. Even the fucking prostitutes were keeping themselves scarce. You couldn’t blame them. If you weren’t who you were, you’d probably be looking up new apartments in another part of town.

The absence of a moon made it worse, because only murderers seem to use the lack of moonlight to make their kills. Though, you thought yourself to be a step above murderers. You killed bad people for money, you just didn’t kill for shits and giggles. You had morals and a good head on your shoulders.

You stop at the quick mart two blocks away to buy yourself a cheap and easy coffee, finding the taste disgusting compared to the ones you had before but you needed incentive not to sleep tonight. You put way too much sugar in the cup, and not enough creamer.

You’re on your way back home when you hear footsteps behind you. It’s not what you want to hear in the middle of the night alone on a street, and when you stop the footsteps stop as well. It’s okay, you keep a cool head. You have a knife in your pocket for situations like this, and casually you turn around.

A man in a skull mask never looked so creepy in your fucking life, and he has the fucking audacity to give you a half-hearted wave before reaching out to grab you. Adrenaline seems to flood every part of your body and you toss the coffee at his face, it’s hot enough to possibly stun him for a moment but you didn’t think about it when you started to fucking run. You couldn’t lead him back to your home, that’s the last place you could go. He was right on your tail and you quickly duck into the nearest alley, thinking quickly. You manage to pull out your knife, falling into a defensive stance as he tries to corner you. His knife is...much bigger, and it seems to be stained with blood. It’s probably _ his _ blood, and if looks could kill you’d be dead in a corner. He laughs, it’s a strong and dark laugh that sends chills down your spine and sounds perfectly evil.

“Why.” You ask him quietly, “Why did you kill him?” Tears threaten to fall as you think of Ray, a purely innocent man who didn’t deserve any of this. “What did he ever do to you?” You almost shout at the man.

“He was in the way.” The man’s voice was eerie, almost grating on your senses. It was a voice you never wanted to hear anymore, and you screamed out and launched yourself at him. You managed to nick a part of his motorcycle jacket, but it wasn’t enough to graze him. You weren’t supposed to miss, you weren’t allowed to miss. But you also weren’t allowed to bring emotion into it, either. Emotions make it hard to kill, hard to aim.

He quickly grabs you, using the brief moment you were stunned to grab you fully, holding you to his chest and locking his arms over yours. He was breathing heavily in your ear, laughing again while his knife threatened to pierce through your stomach. It took every ounce of fear in you to stop moving, lest he stab you right then and there.

Then his voice returned, but this time a warm coat of silk that licked at your ear as if he was the devil himself trying to tempt you. “You’d have more fun if you just let yourself go.” He whispered, “Haven’t you tried making someone bleed to death just to bring yourself to the edge of climax? Possibly ending a life just for the exhilarating rush instead of the satisfaction of being paid for it?”

You clench your teeth, refusing to even answer the masked man and waiting for the weapon to inch away from your stomach. All you could think of was Ray, the man you thought to be friends with, and once you see an opening you use it, pulling all of your weight forward to rip out of his grasp and throw a hasty punch to his gut. It catches him off guard and he drops the knife, the bloody utensil clattering to the side before you maneuvered your foot to kick it further. It’s a miracle that you’re able to get away at all, but as fast as you can run he’s seemingly faster. The knife in your hand feels heavy now and you stop and turn, taking up a challenging stance with a look of anger. You know the places to apply a deep cut, and by the way he raises his hands up in surrender, it seems that he knows it too.

“It won’t be long until you’re coming for me.” He says cryptically, the deep silky voice betraying your body. You do your best not to let it bother you, keeping the knife poised as he finally retreats. The words never leave your mind, and when you know for sure you’re alone again, you wonder why on Earth would you come to him.

Ray is still there when you return, looking slightly worried. By the look in your eyes he puts together what had happened that made you look so strung out. “You saw him didn’t you?” He asks. “I told you not to go out there!” He almost yelled.

You want to answer, but the fact that you could hear a dead person was starting to weigh on you, giving him a sad nod before escaping into the shower. He’s gone when you’re out, and you hope that maybe, just maybe, it was all in your head.

After being serenaded out of your sleep by an offkey singing voice belting out “Domo Arigato Mister Roboto”, you leave the now irritating ghost to escape the madness of last night, heading to a place that you’ve now thought of as your favorite place to kill time.

Gavin’s there, but Ryan intercepts you before he could blink, giving you a smooth smile and he takes your order before you could ask him for any suggestions. You spot Gavin at the front counter, saying something to Ryan and pointing in your direction, before the blonde seems to give him a cheshire grin and says something that causes the man to turn red and vanish to the backroom. Ryan looks pleased at the reaction, and he creates your next cup of coffee and returns with something completely different and surprising.

There was ice cream inside the cup. You forget about last night entirely when you’re presented with this treat, staring at it for a moment before looking back up at Ryan for an answer.

“It’s an Italian treat,” He explains, leaning down to watch you study it. “An Affogato, if I’m correct, which I probably am.” He adds with a smug grin. “I thought you’d enjoy something entirely different than what you’re used to.”

You try it, because the hot espresso was melting the ice cream and you wanted to taste the combination quickly before it melted, and immediately the amaretto hits your tongue and you’re allowing yourself to be swept away by the pleasant taste. This was the perfect place to go to after such an insane night, and leave it to Ryan to know what you needed without knowing why. “Thank you.” You manage to get out, realizing that he was still there.

“I thought you deserved a little something.” He says in that cozy rich baritone that felt like a comforting warm blanket. “Anything for my favorite customer.” He adds, his eyes glinting in a brilliantly mischievous way that had you wondering where your intentions would be if Gavin wasn’t the one who made you stay in the first place. You smile at him in return, and he leaves after that to let you enjoy the rest of your treat.

When you finish, you check your watch, noting that it was getting late. You realize you had to go shopping for groceries and that required a collection of coupons you got from your neighbors. Ray’s face flashes in your mind and you feel a sick twist in your gut, hating the fact that despite death, life still had to go on. It was a bittersweet note that tugged at your heart, because even though he was dead the fucking asshat was still living in your bedroom.

You get up to pay for the affogato, and Gavin is at the register, flashing you a charming and reassuring smile. He doesn’t say anything until you leave the cafe, catching you before you stepped away from the sidewalk.

“Gavin?” You ask, turning towards him.

“Ryan wouldn’t let me get near you, but I wanted to chat.” He glances back at the cafe as he said it, “I was hoping to see you today, love. I guess I’m not the only one trying to chat you up anymore.”

You looked confused at the words, tilting your head slightly, “What do you mean?”

Your confusion was contagious, and he becomes just as confused, “You didn’t notice that?” He questions. “The bloke was all over you! He made sure I couldn’t get anywhere near you!”

The assumption sounds crazy, and you laugh hesitantly. You weren’t used to people liking you, even if you had a friend who flirted with you on a daily basis. Though, with Ray, it was part of his charm and something you could easily laugh off. “He doesn’t like me that way.” You attempt to deflect, but he now looks concerned.

“He created something we only have on our secret menu, love.” Gavin insisted, “We’re not even supposed to mention them unless we’re asked about it.”

You looked thoughtful at that, watching him for a moment before realization etch in your features. “You’re jealous!”

The accusation made him red in the face, and he starts to sputter and squawk, “Oi! I--yeah--maybe!” He looked away suddenly, “Christ, I’m not as awkward as I look, honest!” He attempts to smile, but it looked goofy especially when you called him out on his emotions.

You manage to grin at him, “I guess that means you have to ask me out sometime.” You never thought you’d get so far with the handsome and goofy Brit, but here he was, looking like a blushing school boy, which he was, technically.

“Y-yeah, I gotta beat Ryan to the punch somehow.” He gave his own grin, a more suave looking one. “I guess I’ll email you, then.”

You step away after that, because he’s doing the same thing. You both part ways because anything else said would just probably kill the mood, and he is probably watching as you skip away and towards the bus station.

Your mood going home was way different than when you first left your apartment, and it takes seeing the familiar face of your newest houseguest for reality to come slamming back into you. Ray, however, wasn’t really paying attention to you, making a face that looked constipated as he held his hands over the X-Box controller on the bookshelf.

“Come ON!” He cried out, “They made it look so easy in movies, all I want to do is play a fucking game!”

You stare at him for a moment as he tries oh-so hard into utilizing ghost powers that you didn’t think he had, cracking into an amused grin finally as the situation was too stupid to feel sad.

“I think only vengeful spirits do that.” You quip, thinking about one of those movies. “I don’t think you’re vengeful.” Holy Christ, you were really doing this were you? You were having fun with a dead person.

Ray gives you his patented pout and falls back onto your bed. “Lame.” He looked at his own hands, “I really wanted to possess shit and maybe haunt you. I can’t believe being dead is so horrible.”

“Um,” You step further into the room, quirking your lips up in a smile. “I think that’s the whole point of being dead.” The conversation was too funny and you were trying so hard not to break out into a laugh, because it was disrespectful to laugh into the face of a dead person, wasn’t it? Maybe. Probably.

Ray wasn’t happy at all, by the fact that you were trying to keep a straight face and failing to do so. “Go ahead, laugh at my pain. It’s not like I care or anything.”

His nonchalant tantrum was practically adorable, and suddenly he has that look in his eyes, a hopeful wide-eyed stare in your direction, looking like a child who wanted a cookie. “I got it!” He said then, getting up and moving over to you, “How about you play a game for me? I can totally tell you what to do and it’ll be like living vicariously through you.”

You look through him at the X-Box, fixing your face into hesitation. “I’m not that good though.” It was a crappy answer.

“No, no, just listen. I’ll be your eyes. Listen to everything I tell you and you’ll get good at it.” He insisted, wanting nothing more than to grab your arm and practically drag you across the apartment.

An hour later you were sitting on your bed in front of the second-hand TV that came with the X-Box, playing a game you never heard of, Assassin’s Creed, and failing at it brutally even though you were the real deal. Ray tried to help, he really did, but after ten deaths he gave up and tried to teach you how to properly kill someone undetected.

“I can’t believe you’re so bad at this!” He cries out, “I picked this out because I thought you’d be good at this, you know? Since you’re an _ assassin _ and all.”

You roll your eyes, “Well targeting people with actual weapons is far different than doing it with a weird controller.” You shake the controller at him. “I have to scroll two different ways, this is horrible! One to aim and one to look? Who thought of it, tell me, so I can shoot them myself.”

Ray laughs, “Holy fuck, I haven’t seen you so pissed off before.”

“Because this is stupid!” You finally shout, “Fuck this game, fuck it! I can’t play this.” You practically threw the controller down, resting your head between your hands.

Ray was too busy laughing, further pissing you off until you grab a pillow and throw it at him, only to realize that he was fucking dead and it went right through him. Though, despite the horrible game and how awful the controls were, it was taking your mind away from that creepy masked killer. You smile just slightly, as the night couldn’t have gone any better even though you wanted to throttle a dead guy.

The good mood is increased when you check your email, finding a message from Gavin waiting for you in the inbox. It’s an invite to watch the latest action movie on the weekend. You felt giddy instantly, replying quickly to the obvious date request before shutting your laptop with an awkward giggle.

“Sounds like someone’s gonna get some.” Ray comments from behind you, and it only made you laugh further.

“Jesus, Ray, shut up!” You reply with a flushed face.

* * *

The night goes over smoothly, staying in the apartment while Ray decides to beg you to play an easier game, one that wasn’t a first-person shooter. You pick out the game but he doesn’t look enthused, staring at the Minecraft CD like it was the bane of his existence. Apparently it was very popular for a sandbox game, but he was required to play it so long that he grew to hate it. It’s oddly enough a very easy game for you to play, and despite his snarky comments about getting sniped by skeletons, you effectively build a small fort to survive the night - only to get killed by a creeper when you take your first cave expedition.

“Can we stop now?” Ray finally asks, practically laying on the bed and faced an opposite direction. He stopped watching hours ago and just listened to the ambient noises.

“But I’m having fun.” You say honestly, actually getting the hang of using the controller after three hours of casual gaming. You finally check the clock on the nightstand and realize it’s past 3AM, and a small laugh erupts from your chest. You give in finally to Ray’s annoyance and finally turn off the console, stretching out and heading to the bathroom.

It was an unspoken rule between both of you that dead or not, there was no peeking in the bathroom. Even though you couldn’t threaten to kill him, he was actually a gentleman, which made you start to wonder how this scenario would have turned out differently if you actually let him ask you out that one time.

He still would have died, probably, because the world worked like that. It was designed to turn out the same even if you chose a different outcome in the path. The serial killer would still be out there, and whoever he was, he still would be targeting you. Or was he targeting you? His words were clear on that night, how he implied that he knew what exactly you were and promised you would meet again.

If you believe in how the world worked, then it was only a matter of time.

* * *

The incident was all over the morning news. You had caught the scene during one of your morning runs, taking a break near a tavern that had its television blaring the newest murder.

_ “Twenty-six year old Gavin Free was found dead this morning--” _

The name had your heart leap, eyes widening as you turned towards the tavern door and passing through to watch the television. There he was, his picture on the screen, switching to a live feed of the crime scene, which was the college dorms that sat near your favorite coffee shop. An ugly feeling plummets deep into the pit of your stomach and suddenly you taste bile, ignoring the doorman’s request for an ID and hurrying towards the bathrooms to throw up the breakfast you had this morning.

It was unknown how long you were hugging the bowl, but the flashbacks of the Brit kept playing in your head among the realization that you’d never hear his voice again.

“You look like a right mess.”

Your heart stopped, just for a moment, but the sound of the familiar voice had every function in your body shudder for a split second before the horrifying realization dawns on you. The last thing you needed to do was start hearing him talk. No, Gavin Fucking Free, stay dead.

“Do you hear me? I think you just heard me!” The voice questions, “Hey!”

You refuse to even look behind you, looking straight down when you clamored to your feet and rushed out of the tavern like you needed to run away from the world. There was no fucking way in hell that the Brit still existed, in some weird supernatural form, deciding to fuck with your head. It had to be a dream, nightmare, some figment of your imagination or some sort of alcohol induced hallucination despite the fact that you never touched that bottle of whiskey.

You run home, because now sounded like a good time to start drinking.

The way Ray watches you take the first shot was unnerving, how he looks fucking concerned and wanted to take the bottle away from you.

“It’s not even 5PM yet.” He comments, “What happened?”

You were losing your mind, that’s what happened. You were hearing and seeing dead people and if your hunch was correct, they were both killed by the same psycho with a skull mask. To add more bullshit to the mix, the fact that you knew each one made the feeling that he was targeting you even worse.

“I have some problems.” You finally say weakly, resigning yourself to the fact that you were carrying on a conversation with Ray, who was still probably at the city morgue.

“Boy problems?” He questions further, “He’s gay isn’t he? Found him making out with another dude?” He settles himself on one of your stools, looking amused.

“He’s dead, for one thing.” The second shot is poured and you just stare at it.

Ray realizes the insensitivity in his earlier comment, “Shit, man, sorry about that. Does that mean I still have a chance?”

You gladly take that second shot, glaring at him after that.

“Oh man, if looks could kill.” He tries another zinger, grinning sheepishly, “The least you can do is help me try to find humor in your situation.”

“There’s nothing humorous about this situation.” You say irritably.

“I second that thought--”

Your body flinches badly at the second voice and you let out a shocked scream, almost knocking over the bottle of whiskey in the process and you cling desperately to the table, eyes wide at the sight of your barista and would-be love interest looking none-too-happy about having to hunt you down across the city.

“Holy shit.” Ray’s eyes widen at Gavin and he chances reaching out to touch the Brit, laughing finally when Gavin flinches at the touch and jumps away. “Holy shit!”

“Bloody hell, who the fuck are you!” Squawks the man, staring at Ray. “You--you’re dead!”

“Uh, yeah?” Ray gestures towards him, “You too, doofus.”

Gavin reacts fairly strangely towards the fact that he was told he was dead, looking at his hands and looking for something to pick up and realizing he couldn’t do any of that. “AWWW PISS.” He finally groans, “That explains so much!”

You want to bury yourself under the floorboards, finally looking at Gavin and thinking about one more shot of whiskey straight from the bottle. “You didn’t know you were dead.” You say blandly.

“Nah,” Gavin finally admits, “I thought I was having a real weird dream. Well, crap.”

“Dude.” Ray looks dumbstruck at the Brit, “What fucking happened?”

Gavin looked thoughtful, “Well, I remember my shift ending and I went back to the dorm because I had class next mor--oh piss! I had smegging class this morning!” He gripes, “All my bloody work!”

“Yeah, yeah, get on with it.” Ray looked irritated.

“Well, when I got home I read a bit but I was still wired, I must have taken some melatonin, after that I just went to bed--Oh, yeah, that’s why I thought it was a dream.” He snaps his fingers then, “I remember someone knocking at my door and it was 3AM and Christ, I was so knackered, seeing a guy in a skull mask scared the bloody piss out of me.”

You flinch at the mention of a skull mask, deciding to close up the whiskey and put it away. “What happened then?”

“Well, all sorts of shit happened, somewhere in between I get a bloody piano wire hooked around my neck and then I’m staring at my own body! I thought, well, if I was staring at my own body but still awake and not seeing a guy in a hood with a scythe and all that, I assumed I was dreaming. So I left, I thought, if I’m dreaming and I could go anywhere, then let’s have at it. The only problem was, no one noticed me.”

Ray had a hand over his face, sighing. “That’s...what about the fusing through walls and shit like that?”

Gavin looks offended, “Well that’s physics of dreaming, you doughnut! You can bloody walk through walls and fly and stuff like that!”

“God you sound so stupid.” Ray finally decides, staring at you now. “I can’t believe you like this idiot.”

“It was logical at the time!” Gavin shouts, “Don’t call me stupid, what the bleeding Eff are you doing in Kate’s apartment? Who are you?”

Ray glared at him, “I’m her fucking next door neighbor, dumbass! Also, her name’s not Kate, it’s (Y/N)! And I was here first, go haunt something else for Christ sakes.”

“I will kill myself right now I swear to fucking God.” You nearly shout, “I’m NOT in the mood to deal with this!” It was too much to handle, having two dead people in your apartment and talking to you like they weren’t. You got up and grab your keys, already planning on taking a long walk.

There were so many places to go. So fucking many spots you could have spent your time, but no, you ended up running across the city to find yourself in front of the doors to the little coffee shop next to the college. Next to the crime scene.

The mood was somber inside the shop, all the inhabitants either knowing the fun-loving Brit or having heard of the murder, no one was chatting, sitting and staring at their latte cups, as today's special was a latte, which was Gavin’s signature drink. Your heart almost broke at the sight, all the employees with their fake smiles to brave the work day as if they hadn’t lost one of their own. You sit down at your normal table and try your best not to break down and cry. Even though he was at your apartment and talking to you like it never happened, Gavin was still fucking dead.

You felt a hand touch your shoulder and it makes you jump in your seat, looking up to see Ryan’s sympathetic frown. He must have known how you were ready to cry, or maybe it was clearly visible on your face.

“Are you doing alright?” He questions, taking the time to sit next to you.

That was a good question, and you had such a mile-long answer to those four words, but it wouldn’t be good to actually admit to a normal human being about being stalked by a serial killer and having people you care for killed. The last thing you needed was to put him in danger. So you just shook your head, a simple answer with no words.

He understood it, those kind blue eyes watching your own. “How about a latte?” He asked then, bothered with the fact that he still had to work.

“Yeah.” You say weakly. You realize then that you didn’t take your wallet when you left your apartment, “Wait--” You reach out to grab his arm, stopping him effectively. “I’m sorry, I can’t pay--”

Ryan offers a smile, “It’s on me today, alright?” With that he retreats to the counter, leaving you in a drab silence. You just let out a sigh as you wait, fumbling with your sweatshirt strings and picking at the plastic aglets that were threatening to come apart. Why did you come here of all places? When you ran it was like you were on autopilot, never putting any notice in where your feet took you. You figured it was because the coffee shop was a special place to you, a place where you felt a friendly warmth.

Ryan returns with the latte, looking like the first one she had when she met Gavin, complete with the rose in the foam. It seems to flip a switch in something you’ve been trying not to do ever since the news report, and suddenly the tears are rolling down your cheeks.

You didn’t expect the comforting hug from the handsome barista, the man calmingly whispering soothing words as you cried a pool of tears into his shirt. His warm calloused fingers were petting your hair, left the way it looked from the time you rolled out of bed. By the time the tears are gone you still feel miserable, hiccuping against the man’s shoulder while he still holds you like you were precious. You suddenly feel self-conscious about the closeness and inch your hands to his chest to nudge him back, finally coming face to face with the man.

“Sorry,” He finally said in his soft rich baritone, “You looked like you needed a shoulder to cry on.” He glanced at the tear puddle on his shirt, chuckling. The soft laugh was unique to your ears, almost like a deep wind chime. You managed to smile, just slightly.

“N-no, that’s me, giving into stress.” You sighed out.

He chanced a smile of his own, “Forgive my bluntness, but you look like a mess.” He let out another laugh at your realization, and you wanted to give anything to hear that laugh more often. You flinch at your own thoughts, because it was horrible to think about one man’s laugh amidst mourning another. The guilt washes over you but he doesn’t seem bothered by it, assuming he knew what exactly you were thinking. Ryan eases himself away and settles himself in the chair next to you. “It may sound crazy, and forgive me once again, suppose I could treat you to lunch. You look like you haven’t eaten and I can clearly smell whiskey on your breath.” His tone was quiet, not made for the rest of the shop. You appreciated his kindness but the thought of food wasn’t quite appetizing to you, not today.

You wondered if you could eat for a while, actually.

“You don’t have to do that.” You finally respond, “I’m perfectly fine.”

Ryan quirks an eyebrow, as if challenging your definition of ‘fine’, as he could see you clearly and how he described you earlier didn’t sound fine at all. “Am I going to have to tie you up and force feed you?” He asks then, smirking.

The question brings out a sudden laugh, and you’re not sure why you’re doing it, but it feels good to feel humor. You see that he’s smiling at your reaction. Though as soon as it came, it was gone just as quickly, and you now look slightly confused. He was being so kind, and they barely knew each other. Or was it because of Gavin’s death and your relation to him, the woman that the barista fancied?

“You really don’t need to do this.” You finally say, looking away from his lovely eyes.

Ryan shook his head, “It’s not a bother, Kate.” He pats your hand reassuringly. “I feel like being a good friend today, so let me do that.”

When he finally leaves to tend to another customer you’re now staring at the cooling latte, staring at the ruined foam art that sat still too long. You tentatively pick it up and take a sip, thinking about what had just happened and wondering if you had to stay here until he was off the clock, or perhaps you could leave without him noticing and return to your apartment.

The thought of going back home was a horrible thought, however, as there were two dead men probably bickering at each other right now inside your bedroom while Gavin was making himself at home. The last thing you wanted to do was go back home right now, because having to deal with them meant having to deal with the knowledge that you were probably losing your sanity slowly but surely.

“Good, you haven’t left.” He says to you when he finally appears from the back, his coat in his hand. “The manager’s allowed me to leave for the day.” He looked happy at this, despite the fact that everyone was in mourning. Your eyes widen at the statement and you look worried at his admission.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You asked him honestly, hoping that he wouldn’t get in trouble for your sake.

Ryan doesn’t seem bothered by your question, taking your hand and helping you to your feet and guiding you back to the world outside. You realize how…unkempt you look all of a sudden, compared to his sleek polo shirt that complemented his blue eyes and the khaki slacks he wore along with it. He seems to grin at that, noticing you look him over and chuckling good-naturedly. “You look fine.” He insisted, hooking his jacket on his forearm while he reached up to comb your hair with his own fingers to take care of the loose ends. “Now, where do you want to go to eat?”

You smile faintly, feeling like a child that a handsome parent was caring for. “I don’t need anything fancy.” You say, your cheeks going pink at the thought. “You can just take me to a McDonalds—“

“A greasy burger and salty fries don’t really sound like a meal that I’d be comfortable buying you.” He interrupted you smoothly, fixing on a gracious smile. “At least let me take you to a diner. A hearty meal is better than the alternative.”

He sounded so kind with his offer, and coupled with his charming looks, it sounded like a dream. You felt that tug in the pit of your stomach, again feeling guilty over fawning over such a lovely guy when the one you really liked was murdered. It unsettles you so much that you had to drive it out of your mind, because remembering this fact wasn’t going to change anything. Life goes on…right?

You recall Gavin’s words again, watching Ryan as he led you to a local diner. You couldn’t believe that this was anything other than a kind gesture on Ryan’s part. It would be too cruel to use a moment like this for his own personal gain.

It wasn’t until you were sitting at the booth that you realized that the killer could be watching. You knew that the killer was targeting you, if Ray and Gavin were any indication. That meant that Ryan was a possible victim that could end up in your apartment the next morning or so. Dread tears at your stomach now, taking away any will to eat at the moment. You proceed to look outside the diner window anxiously, worried that someone could be watching them right now.

“Are you alright?” Ryan notices your anxiety, frowning, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t meant to be a joke, but at the moment he said it you ended up laughing suddenly, a harsh nervous laughter that you had to force yourself to stop. The irony wasn’t lost on the moment, and quickly you groaned at the sudden laugh that escaped you, your face flooding with embarrassment.

“You could say that.” You whispered to the man. He wouldn’t know what you meant by that, and you hoped to whatever God was out there that he wouldn’t know any time soon.

Ryan quirked a brow at your reaction but said nothing, sipping the black coffee that the waitress had given him and relaying his order, and taking yours when you failed to decide on anything.

You weren’t sure if you could actually eat a fully-loaded omelette with hash browns and toast, staring at the food when the waitress served it to you. Ryan had a large hamburger and a mess of thick cut fries, the sight of it making your lips twitch up.

“I thought you said a greasy burger and salty fries weren’t worth it.” You asked in in a low voice.

Ryan feigned offense to your words, gesturing to his plate, “Excuse me, but Bob’s Diner doesn’t just make a greasy burger and salty fries, and I should have you hanged for your treasonous words against this meal.”

You couldn’t help but find amusement in that defensive comment, breaking into a smile as you chuckled under your breath. “I’ve never been here before.” You say honestly, shrugging lightly. This side of town wasn’t really well-traversed, and you only knew of the coffee shop. Otherwise, it would be a contractor here that would lead you to this part of town.

When you finally give in and attempt to eat, you’re pleasantly surprised. The food is very good. Your eyes flicker up to exchange a smile with Ryan as he grins at the sound you made with the first bite.

“Ahh? I told you.” He said knowingly, returning to his hamburger.

You don’t reply, proceeding to eat the food gratefully. It wasn’t until you were halfway finished that you had a strange feeling hit you, something like someone was staring at you. You casually glance up at Ryan and see that he’s looking somewhere else, reading the table menu. A frown graces your features, and you look around curiously. No one was looking your way. The feeling of someone staring you down was intense, and you finally cast your sights along the window outside, scanning people along the street. People were just walking normally, talking amongst each other or on their phones, deep in concentration. Your eyes flicker up along the building windows and seeing nothing.

“Kate?” Ryan finally takes your attention away briefly, his own blue eyes on your concerned face. “What’s wrong?”

You can’t shake that feeling that someone is staring at you, and you let out a frustrated sigh. “I…feel like someone’s watching me—or us. I’m not sure, but I can feel it.” You couldn’t lie about it, because it was truly bothering you and if they were watching him as well then he needed to know. A sudden jolt of fear hits you and you look back outside, wondering if it was the killer that was watching you. Watching Ryan.

Your words seem to hit Ryan in a certain way, and he glanced out the window to join your search. “You’re quite intuitive.” He finally says, looking back to you again. “I believe it’s that car over on the corner—“ He takes your hand quickly as you look towards the location, “Ah-ah-don’t look their way.” He says quickly, rubbing a consoling thumb along your palm. You can’t really look out the window anymore, looking down at his hand in yours and feeling a small warmth pool in your cheeks. You have to try and distract yourself, as this wasn’t the time to be a girl and blush from simple contact.

“How did you know?” You finally ask, growing curious.

“The car has parked there ever since we went into the diner, and they haven’t left. I have a good eye for this kind of thing.” He explains to you, pulling on a charming smile. “Don’t you worry, Kate. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Again, you feel yourself blushing, staring at him bewilderedly even though you knew perfectly well you could take care of himself. He actually sounded like a prince…no…like a benevolent king with a voice that matched his velvet splendor.

The hand in yours curls around your own until he’s pulling you gently, “Do you have anywhere else to be, Kate?” He asks gently. “We could always go to my place…”

If you weren’t blushing before then you were definitely doing it now, sputtering out a reply before slipping your hand away. While today has gotten better, this wasn’t something you expected to happen. You still had Gavin in your apartment. Your mind focuses on Gavin, wondering if the man was worrying about you being gone so long. “I think—I think I need to get back home, actually.” You say hesitantly before looking away with resounding guilt.

Ryan doesn’t take your words the wrong way, smiling plainly and letting his shoulders shrug. “I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression, I didn’t mean it like that.” He grinned slightly, moving to stand and pay for the check that was left on the table. “Let me at least drive you home, my car is back at the cafe.”

You nod hesitantly, food forgotten as you stand up with him and follow him out. Your eyes finally spot the car that he spoke about just a moment ago, seeing someone inside reading the newspaper as if they were acting casual. Instantly, you feel Ryan’s arm slip around your waist and hold you securely against him as you both pass the car. Your eyes look up to his and he’s looking down at you, grinning smoothly like the regal king that he was.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

You nod helplessly, your thoughts whirling around your mind at hyper speed until you actively ignore them for the moment to feel his strong arm around your waist. The walk back to his car is slow, as if he’s taking his time leading you back until it’s time to release you from his grasp. He presses a button on his keyring to unlock the car, actually going for the passenger seat to open the door for you and giving you another charming smile. You smile at him in return, sliding into the leather seat of the sports car, feeling butterflies tumble in your stomach from anxiety and something else entirely.

When he turns the car on the radio comes on as well, playing a pop-rock ballad.

_ “Every single day _

_ Every word you say _

_ Every game you play _

_ Every night you stay _

_ I'll be watching you” _

Ryan smiles at the song, chuckling. “That’s my favorite song.”

Immediately you look at him curiously. You knew about that song, and the real meaning behind it. His admission sounds innocent enough, however. “You know that’s a stalker song, it’s not a love song like they intend it to be.” You turn the volume up when it hits a certain set of lyrics. “Listen carefully.”

_ “Oh can't you see _

_ You belong to me _

_ My poor heart aches _

_ With every step you take” _

Ryan nods as he listens, looking thoughtful at the lyrics that you’ve pointed out for him. “Huh, I never thought of it that way.” He says honestly, shaking his head. “It does come off kinda stalker-ish, doesn’t it?”

You fix a small smile, “Sorry to ruin your song.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grins again, taking your directions towards your apartment. The ride is quiet right after that, the music switching into something else classical. He turns when you instruct him, parking on the street next to a lot of run-down apartments. When both of you finally get out he takes a look at the neighborhood you live in, keeping his thoughts to himself. You wonder if he was from the suburbs, as he looked like the type that had a lovely two-story home with a wife and children, and a small puppy. A man that barbequed on the weekends and probably played tennis. It sounded silly, however, as why would a man with a family work at the coffee shop? He probably had a decent apartment that was on the better side of town.

By the time you leave your thoughts you two are stopped in front of your apartment door. Ryan is smiling down at you, his arm still around your waist.

You blush just slightly, “I guess…this is my stop.” You say hesitantly, not really wanting to walk back into that apartment and face down two dead people, but at the same time, you feel like you need to.

Ryan holds the door open for you and leads you upstairs to the apartment you specify. You can already hear the two ghosts bicker and whine, and you look at Ryan. He doesn’t seem to notice the voices you do, which was logical enough. No normal, sane person could hear ghosts arguing amongst each other. Ryan smiles down at you and reaches up to brush some hair from the side of your face.

“It may be the most inopportune time,” He begins, “However, I feel like you need to grasp moments as they come.” He smiles down at you, that rich baritone sounding lovely in your ears. “I hope you don't mind me asking if we could go out for dinner tomorrow.”

He was right, it was an inopportune time, but somehow it didn’t sound offensive, coming from him. This man, this handsome model-dad out of an Old Navy catalogue, someone you didn’t once think about going out with at one point in time and now here he was, a kind gentleman that had a strong voice and stronger hands. You worry, though. You worry that Ryan might be your next target and you don’t want to wake up hearing him sweet talk you like Ray has been doing, you worry that he will appear one day more translucent than solid. You wish you could say yes to his offer, but at the moment you couldn’t imagine doing this. Not now.

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly, unable to smile, “You’re a gentleman, you’re sweet, but this isn’t the right time.” You had to let him down easy, and you also hope he understands why.

Ryan didn’t look disappointed at all, nodding in understanding and moving to cup your cheek. “Then, may I steal a kiss?”

The question makes your heart pound and all you can look at now is his lips, where that sweet and savory voice derives from. A kiss wouldn’t hurt you, would it? There wasn’t anyone watching you in this narrow hallway, no one else was here but you and him. You give him a nervous smile, nodding in his hand, bracing yourself as he moves in to kiss you.

It was tender, his lips brushing against yours as if to test out the waters before finally pressing forward. His hands are cradling your head while the both of you kiss, the warmth of his lips feeling foreign. No one has ever kissed you before, and you were afraid you’d ruin your first. Just like that, however, it had ended, and he was leaning back. Your cheeks were flushed, realizing that indeed, he was a true gentleman. There were movies depicting much heavier and heated kisses but he never took it that far, like he wanted to save that chance for another time. Instead this kiss was a preview of what could be, and if you thought long and hard about it, it might have been a promise for more in the future.

Ryan was smirking now, still cradling your head as the darkness of your cheeks revealed your truth. You instantly feel more nervous than you were before, trying to smile at him. “You’re adorable.” He commented suddenly, finally releasing you. “I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully.”

You nod quietly, watching him finally leave you, the man strolling down the hallway and out of sight as he turned a corner, leaving you alone, watching after him and feeling how fluttery your heartbeat was. You had to hope and pray that the next morning wouldn’t be filled with terrible news, that a warm-hearted barista with cool blue eyes and an easy going smile wasn’t found dead the next day.

When you finally turn towards your door you jump in place, covering your mouth as you cry out. Peeking out the door was the faces of her house-guests, Ray looking cheeky with a grin that reached his ears while Gavin looked utterly heartbroken, his eyes wide like saucers, puppy-dog eyes.

“Aw shite.” He leans back into the apartment, and you feel a pang of guilt.

* * *

You were still being watched.

It began just when you leave the apartment, ready to get away from the two ghosts still haunting your living area. Gavin was still heartbroken over what happened the night before, and Ray was making sex jokes at every moment. Staying in the apartment just sounded a little worse than being stalked, really.

You try not to think about the lingering eyes on you as you proceeded to make your way around town, coupons in hand as you do your daily tasks. The eyes remained everywhere you went. In the train station, on the train. You kept an eye out but there wasn’t anyone there you recognized, no person in a skull mask, nothing. From there you felt it inside the supermarket. Every time you attempted to search for those eyes you wound up with nothing. Either you were being watched by someone elusive or your sanity was starting to slip even further. You hoped it wasn’t your sanity, the last thing you wanted was overwhelming paranoia.

Once you’re on the train again there weren’t many people, however you still knew someone was still watching. Cooly you glance around, only spotting a single mother with her child, a homeless man, a couple of businessmen that were chatting with each other, and a man reading the paper. The man reading the paper was what stuck out to you, and you remember your days on the job, scouting out your hits and using the paper to pretend that you weren’t watching, when actually you were. The man looked inconspicuous, yet, he could have very well been your stalker. Brown hair, curled outside a casual beanie, rectangular glasses. He was broad shouldered, reminding you of the attacker with the skeleton mask. You looked away as he turned the page of his paper, thinking. You needed to know his height, but there was no possible way you could go over to him and ask him to stand.

No matter, you think. 

Now that you know what he looks like you start to notice him everywhere the following day. He pretends he’s doing his own thing, but you know better. He’s been tailing you ever since Gavin’s death. Eventually he would have to make a move, and you were waiting for it. Instead of going home later that day, you decide to stay out. You couldn’t go back to the coffee shop, not while the killer was on your trail. The last thing you wanted to do was allow the killer a chance to get to Ryan. So far you haven't seen or heard of his death in the news, so it was good enough to assume that the killer wanted you alone.

If he wanted you alone, then he’d get you alone.

A smirk toys on your lips as you enter the park after the sun is down, casually keeping your hands in your jacket pockets while you took an evening stroll. The moon was high, gleaming down and providing adequate light for you. The eyes were still there, and your senses were on high alert. You head for the most private part of the park, hearing footsteps in your wake. The knife strapped to your leg was burning against your ankle, waiting to be used, waiting to taste blood. Slowly, you stop, hearing a gun cocking. Your eyes shut.

“If you know what’s good for you, put your hands up and turn around slowly.” His voice is strong, like steel, a slight Jersey accent dancing around his words. You raise your hands above your head and pull on a smile. You weren’t afraid, you dealt with people worse than him in your life.

“I was waiting for you to make your move.” You say, turning slowly to meet him. The man was glaring at you, blazing fire behind brown eyes that dared you to make a move. His arm was extended, his Glock 19 trained on your chest. He blended in with the average joe in just a gaming t-shirt, sweatpants and the brown leather jacket, the black beanie covering his brown locks. His face was slightly screwed, eyes narrowed as if he knew what you are.

“Miss Kate Henderson, am I correct?” He asked loudly.

You wanted to laugh slightly, but you managed to hide the amusement well. He only knew you by your fake name, that said everything you needed to know. “Perhaps.” You answer playfully.

“I’ve been watching you.” He pulls out a badge from his jacket pocket, flipping it to show her the gleaming gold that was caught in the moonlight. “Detective Micheal Jones for the Achievement City Police Department. I have reason to believe you may be linked to the deaths of one Mr. Ray Narvaez Jr. and one Mr. Gavin Free.”

Realization dawns on your features and you watch him for a new reason now, your facade cracking to allow a small grin. “You’re kidding. You think I killed them.” You sounded amused, but you know that laughing in a cop’s face was the worst thing you could do. “Detective Jones, you have the wrong person.”

Micheal didn’t stop glaring at you, “Come with me quietly to the station and perhaps I’ll listen to you.”

You wanted to, oh Lord, you wanted to do that so much to clear your name, but your mind was ripped away from the thought of placating a police officer when you noticed a familiar figure in the distance. The whites of the skull mask looked taunting, and he continued to step closer to Detective Jones. “Turn around.” You say suddenly, stepping back on reflex. “Please, turn around.”

The cop didn’t like the inflections in your voice, how it turned suddenly fearful. He looked at your eyes, hesitant, only to realize that you were staring beyond him. He quickly decided to turn, his eyes locking with the man with the skull mask and he scowled, keeping his gun high. He began to back up as well, as the mysterious killer was holding his large knife, still coated in blood. “Stop right now.” He shouted out.

You didn’t know what to do, lowering your arms and thinking fast. You could save him, you could come to Michael’s aide. Gunshots assaulted your senses suddenly and you jolted, your eyes wide and watching as the bullets did nothing to the other man, his pace increasing. “Michael!” You make your way forward, but the killer is faster, advancing on the detective and weaving through the next gunshots, one of the bullets scraping his shoulder before he caught Michael in the ribs with his knife. The blood drained from your face as you watched on, frozen to the spot as Michael’s arms lowered, his legs feeling weak while the masked killer twisted his knife in the other’s lung. Michael was rasping out a breath, trying to speak before his life drained away, finally collapsing.

You let out a pained whimper, unable to look away as the man kneels down by the Detective’s dead body and wrenches his knife from the other’s lungs, turning his gaze onto you.

Instantly you whip around and start running, not caring whether or not if he was following. You needed to get away, you needed to leave. Your heartbeat was hammering in your chest, through your ears as you continued to run. Your stamina was good for this, reaching about four blocks until you finally decided to stop, ducking into an alleyway and doubling over, finally expelling your last meal before breaking out into tears.

“Mother fucker.”

You freeze to the spot, the familiar voice reverberating through your body. No, no, anything but this. Please no.

“You let me fucking die, you little cunt!”

Gradually you turned your head upwards, finally looking at him. The translucent form of Michael Jones, glaring back at you with ire.

“Are you fucking happy with yourself?” He bit out, still glaring.

You bent back down to vomit one more time.

* * *

You didn’t know what was worse, two love-struck ghosts haunting you or a dead cop that was angry that you allowed him to die.

You sat silently at your counter, taking another shot out of your whiskey while the three of them insisted on talking over each other. On the counter beside the bottle was the morning paper, recognizing the murder of Detective Michael Jones.

“You’re the _ STUPIDEST _\--”

“Quiet down someone may hear you! You’ve been yelling nonstop--”

“We’re _ DEAD _ , no one’s going to _ HEAR US! _”

“Geeze, man, cool it down, go with the flow--”

“_ I WILL NOT COOL DOWN! _ The bitch let me die--”

“She has a name!”

“Motherfucking Kate let me die!”

“Her name is (Y/N)!”

“I don’t care!”

You sighed, taking one last shot as Ray eyed you worriedly. He was the only one you were used to, and he was the only one that had actually accepted his death. “It’s nine in the morning.” He pointed out.

You glance at him, sighing. “Anyone would drink in this situation.” You say blandly as Gavin and Michael argued. “I’m tired of dead people tying themselves to me.”

You were tired of seeing dead people when you weren’t meant to see them in the first place.

You were tired of being all too aware that this was your sanity slipping and not just reality.

Ghosts weren’t real, and even if they were then you’d have a lot more than three people in your apartment.

Ray frowns sympathetically, “If it helps, I don’t really like them either.” He gestures his thumb back to Gavin and Michael. “It was a lot better when it was just you and me.” He manages to sit across from you, watching you run your fingers along the rim of a full shot.

You miss Ray, you earnestly miss him. He was by far the most easy going guy to be around, and you idly wondered what would have been if you just gave in and let him take you out on a date. Perhaps you wouldn’t be in the presence of three dead people, perhaps you wouldn’t be hunted down by a killer. Perhaps it still would have happened, a thought that tugged at your heart wearily. The killer was after something, killing everyone that had any contact with you. So far the only one who wasn’t haunting her was Ryan…

Suddenly there was a knock at the door that effectively shut the arguing ghosts up. You pause for a moment, glancing around to your hidden weapon caches around the apartment. No, he wouldn’t come here in broad daylight, would he?

The knocking appeared again and you finally get to your feet, heading to the door and placing your hand on it, taking a moment to breathe before unlocking it and opening the door. You were greeted by a man. A tired looking man with the darkest brown hair you’ve come across and a five-o-clock shadow. He stared at you evenly with icy blue eyes that looked like they’ve seen more than what you could imagine.

“(Y/N) (L/N)?”

You freeze to the spot at the mention of your real name, staring at him with wide eyes. He pushes into your apartment without asking and you hurriedly shut the door. It wouldn’t bode well to kill a man in the hallway of your apartment. He boredly looks around the entire space he’s standing in while you cautiously move over to one of your weapons caches. Who could he be from? The mafia? Overseas military? Was he an assassin or a spy? No, either of those wouldn’t wind up at your door so nonchalantly. He didn’t seem to notice you reaching for your gun.

Gavin yelped. “(Y/N)!”

“Put the gun away, Miss (L/N), I’m not here to fight you.” The man said to you, his voice sounded strangled, almost uneven. He sounded like he looked, tired and stressed. He wasn’t even looking at you as he was instead staring at the bottle of whiskey as if it were a long lost lover, gazing at the still-full shot before looking away and swallowing.

“How do you know my name?” You were defensive and alarmed, waiting for him to draw a weapon so you could retaliate. You had many silenced guns inside the house, and a bullet waiting for its new home.

“We know a lot of things, Miss (L/N), we know you’re a freelance assassin, we know you enjoy to clip coupons. We know you have a million dollar bank account at the Bank of Achievement City that gradually keeps growing with every wired transfer.” He quirks a grin, “Why do you clip coupons if you’re loaded?”

Your face burns with the question and you tear your eyes away just for a fraction. “I don’t like spending more money than I have to, but that’s not important.” You look back at him again, hard. “Who are you? Who is ‘we’?”

The man finally picks up the offending shot of whiskey and takes it to the sink to pour it, clearly offended by its presence. “We are the FBI, Miss (L/N). My name is Agent Geoff Ramsey. We’ve been following you for quite a while. The CIA has given us your overseas files, the hits that happen while you’re in those countries of origin. You’ve taken down a lot of men that were on their watchlist, young lady. They’ve decided to follow the trail to see where it goes.”

You could see Michael looking particularly dumbstruck while Ray grinned. Gavin, however, Gavin didn’t know what the hell was going on.

“Love, you’re an assassin?” He squeaked.

You tried to ignore the ghosts for now. “Are you here to arrest me?”

“Not today.” Geoff smiled thinly. “We have another issue at hand. You see, you’ve been experiencing some…accidents. Deaths with one common theme: The victims relate to you. We assumed it was just you murdering these victims, but our men who have been tailing you seem to spot something very different: a man in a white skull mask.”

You feel a cold chill going up your spine. “I’m not the only one…” You breathed, staring at Geoff in another way now. Hopeful. Could this nightmare finally end? You’d do anything for this to stop - even if it meant working with the very people who you were tracking you down.

“This man isn’t an anomaly. He’s killed before, in other cities, countries. His appearance never changes, he’s always the same man with a skull mask and a motorcycle jacket. His MO was different, however. He only killed for the fun of it, there was no rhyme or reason to the murders. Here, however, there’s a common theme. The theme is _ you _.”

You feel like you lost him at some point, trying to understand what Geoff was saying. “What do I have to do with this?” You glare at him, “He’s killing people I actually care about!”

Geoff smirks, “That’s the problem.” He waited for the shock to drain from your face, “He knows what you are, (Y/N), he wants you to notice him. He’s been killing people close to you because you’re too close to _ them _. A madman’s love poem. Now with a police detective dead, I feel that he’s becoming desperate.”

You recall those days when Michael was constantly watching you, blinking at the realization of just what was happening. “He killed the cop because the man had been watching me.” You say quietly, your mind racing. Who was next? Who was going to die? Who else did you have interactions with?

_ Ryan. _

“Ryan is still alive.” You say instantly, hurrying over to the laptop at your table and searching for his e-mail address. “I have to warn him--”

“Really. You’re known to be the most conniving contract killer we’ve come across, and you’re not thinking about the pattern.” He was right behind you now, bending over to look at the computer screen. “Think carefully, (Y/N), everyone you had contact with has been viciously murdered except one man.”

You swallow a lump around your throat, your eyes trailing to three unread messages from the man in question. All dated two hours after the murder of Michael Jones.

You shut your eyes, because honestly the truth sounded worse than the lies. It sounded so much better than realizing a man who was so kind to you had ulterior motives. That the man with the nicest smile you’ve ever seen was also the crazed madman that killed two people who were dear to you. That the dark silky voice that enveloped your senses was trying to goad you into letting go.

_ “You’d have more fun if you just let yourself go.” _

“He did it…” You breathe, turning away from the computer and running your hands through your hair. “Ryan killed all of them.”

“He’s not new to this.” Geoff was back at the kitchen, “We’ve been following this man for years, it’s only when the CIA gave your files to us that everything became intertwined. We began to question why he targeted you, and there was a little moment five years back where both of your trails had crossed. I don’t think you remember that assignment in Saudi Arabia, do you?”

You think hard, five years ago was so far away. You’ve done so much back then. Thinking back you remember, the grand hotel you were staying in, the many faces you came across. The more you remembered the more it became clear. The familiar face that greeted you as you were having tea. A quiet conversation and shared laughter. You thought nothing of it, he was just an American stranger in a strange land on a business trip, just as you were an American ‘tourist’. The longest you two spent together was just under an hour.

“I had to kill a diplomat.” You say quietly, “I only remember that assignment because I was trying to beat someone else to the punch, the first time that I was competing with another assassin.”

“Ryan Haywood used to be one of the finest contract killers there were.” Geoff explained, “He was known as the Vagabond. He never left a trace for anyone to follow, but sometime after that, he went off the grid. We believe the constant kills had inevitably caught up to him, and his mind was slipping. He now calls himself _ The Mad King _ . We only caught up to him when there were reports of a killer, a man in a skull mask, killing people without any meaning behind it, no job, no assignment. He just did it for no other reason than just because _ he could _. We tried to get to him, but he was always one step ahead. He seemed to love the chase, it was a thrill to him just as much as the hunt.”

You felt cold, wrapping your arms around yourself and taking a steady breath. “He’s after me.”

“That’s why I’m here right now. We’ve tried his home, his workplace, but he’s in hiding. The only way we can get him out in the open is if you can lure him to us. If you help us with this I’m sure your past indiscretions can be overlooked, only if you decide to retire your trigger finger or work for us.”

“How do you know he’s not watching us now?” You say quickly, staring at Geoff and fearing what could happen. “If he knew Jones was after me, he could very well know--”

“(Y/N), I took great precautions before coming here. I have men around this building. For all anyone knows, I could be visiting Mr. Hullum two floors down.”

Even so, the possibilities of your apartment being watched were high, you quickly look towards the windows in the kitchen and hurry over to them, needing to put some privacy between you and the outside world.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Came the man’s voice, sounding like... Honestly, you couldn’t pinpoint how he sounded, his voice was as unique as anything you’ve ever heard. _ Different. _ You stop what you were doing, waiting for him to continue, “He will know if you do that.”

You end up sighing in defeat, returning to the kitchen table and staring back down at the bottle of whiskey, tempted to take everything that was left inside of it. You could see Ray’s distress, Gavin and Michael in the background, watching on while Michael muttered a string of curses.

“I’m going to have to make contact with him, will I?” You say quietly, looking towards Geoff and watching him nod in agreement. It was the biggest possible route that everyone wanted to take, you surmise, as you weren’t a civilian that could easily get killed. The FBI, the CIA, they knew your numbers, they knew your skills. You were the best bait they could ever want, a trained assassin who could take care of herself and get them the man they needed. You slowly make your way over to the laptop, sitting down and opening up the first email.

_ “I do believe I might have been too hasty to ask you on a date, Kate, given what had happened. Could I possibly repay you somehow for my mistake?” _

You cringe as you force yourself to reply. “Where do you want me to be?” You ask the man that’s obviously behind you now, looking over what you were doing.

“Some place public, he won’t do anything too risky while there’s eyes everywhere. We need you to offer to take you back to his place. We will be tracking your every movement.”

“How do you know he won’t try to _ kill _ me?” You ask then, turning to meet his dead-eyed stare.

“After everything he’s been doing to get your attention, your death is the furthest thing on his mind.” Geoff answers back knowingly.

You worry anyway, but you knew that he was possibly right. If he wanted to kill you then he would have tried to do it on many occasions. You were alone in a car with him. Suddenly you inhale sharply, remembering that exact moment, that song on the radio.

_ “That’s my favorite song.” _

That should have been a dead giveaway, and you completely missed it. Your hands are still steady over the keyboard, and you’re surprised you’re not shaking by now. You finally type in your reply, swallowing a phantom lump in your throat.

_ “Maybe we could go out, I’m sorry, there had been a lot on my mind. We should go see a movie. The one that’s playing downtown tomorrow night, that suspense thriller? If that’s okay with you, that is.” _

Public place full of people. Even if it was a darkened room, he still wouldn’t try anything.

When you send it your heartbeat is loud, you could hear your blood pumping. It was the same thing you could hear just before you made a kill. Every single cell of blood rushing past you with every beat of your heart, signalling you that you were very much alive and that the man on the other end of the sniper rifle was going to die horribly.

The two of you, and the three ghosts inside the room, waited patiently at the desk while the seconds began to form into minutes.

_ Bling. _

That was a quick reply, and you click on the message.

_ “Sounds lovely! Let’s meet there, I’m sure we have a lot to talk about after the movie. _

_ We have a lot in common.” _

* * *

The plan was a short one, straight to the point. _ Get him to take you home. _ There were men already parked outside of his apartment, taking on the part of construction workers. There were men at the movie theatre, dressed like civilians and waiting for their call. Geoff left you in the hands of another FBI agent, Agent Tuggey, a woman with humor for these stiff and dark hours. She continued to crack jokes while outfitting you with a special jacket, one that had a microphone hidden and appearing like one of the faux buttons in the front. Inside was the transmitter, something you assumed that would take their conversation and transmit it into whatever unmarked van they were going to hide in. Honestly, Agent Tuggey managed to make you feel less worried about your impending date with a serial killer, noticing the ghosts that were strictly silent as if they knew not to distract you. The look on Ray’s face was obvious, that he didn’t want you to end up like any of them, although you thought that if you were killed, he’d be on you like a cat to tuna.

Poor Michael just looked unnerved, while Gavin was entirely sad.

“Alright, the battery pack is full, and I believe it’s time for you to go.” Lindsay said to you, smiling reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Ramsey is one of our top Agents, he won’t let you die.”

You smile thinly, you knew how to kill a man in twenty different ways and even then you were quite nervous about this stalker doing something to overpower you. Geoff had given you his files, the two of you were quite evenly skilled. It wasn’t hard to know why the FBI had finally decided to intervene, and not just because a cop was killed.

They were afraid of the possibility of you joining him on his murderous rampage.

Not that you even thought about it, not one bit. You were losing your sanity, possibly, but you weren’t losing your morality.

But isn’t that how Ryan finally turned? All the kills had eventually gotten to him mentally, and it worried you. If you were seeing three dead people, then what could he possibly be seeing? Was he delusional and unhinged? You were on the same path if you have three of the victims living in your home. You suddenly question your own sanity, and your future. If this turned out well, then you were forced to either give it all up or work for them under their rules. The thought sounded more terrifying than leading Ryan into a private room. You lived on your profession, you thrived on it. It felt good to put a bullet in the heads that deserved it--

Why did it _ feel good _?

You quickly ignore the thought and steady yourself, reaching for the full shot of whiskey waiting for you and downing it quickly, trying to mentally steel yourself. “I’m ready.”

* * *

You met Ryan outside the movie theatre. Honestly, for a serial killing stalker, he looked pleasant. He dressed up for the evening, as you could see in his ironed dress shirt and black slacks. He still looked like he came out of the Old Navy catalogue, and you nearly expected kids to appear at his side. Why did this man have to look so handsome?

You ignore that thought like you did the other one, forcing a smile. You actually brushed your hair for the evening instead of leaving it unkempt, also wearing your best clothes, as casual as they may be. You need to look the part to play the part, right?

“I feel under-dressed.” You find yourself saying, gesturing to his person.

“I disagree.” He said smoothly, and you’re again assaulted with silky baritones that pleased your ears, “You look beautiful tonight.”

The blush that took your otherwise normal skin color was hard to fight off. You weren’t really the type to be called beautiful, nor did you try to become the type that the word pertained to. Despite whose mouth it came from, it still sounded sincere.

“Well...these...I just...found these…” You gesture to your own clothes, “They were my best looking ones in the closet.”

“You’re a minimalist when it comes to your wardrobe,” He pointed out the obvious, “I’ve seen you wear possibly the same thing every time we meet. It’s quite a nice trait, you dress for practicality instead of fashion.”

He got it right on the nose, and your eyes had a hard time leaving his until you forcefully pull them away, “We should get a seat.” You finally say, gesturing to the line at the ticket counter and pulling out your wallet.

“I’d feel better if I was the one paying.” He said to you, before you brought out the two slips of yellow paper that sat in your wallet. That had Ryan stopping completely, “Huh?”

“I won a giveaway six months ago, one of the prizes were two free passes to this exact movie theatre.” You explain simply, waving the slips in his face. “Let me get these, and you can get the popcorn.”

What you got in reply was a laugh that you come to like coming from him, it was a genuine laugh that sounded playful yet dark at the same time, it was strong, coming from his chest. You smile at that, you couldn’t help but smile at that, watching him take the other yellow slip of paper, still looking amused.

You two finally make it through the queue and enter with your free passes, and Ryan made sure to pull his wallet out before you offered up another hidden coupon from your own wallet, which you knew you had. You insisted, however, that you and him share a popcorn bag. Even though this was a trap you couldn’t help but act like the cheapskate that you were. It was a part of you, and it was proven in that bank account that reached over a million. Any other paid assassin would have blown their savings within two months with lavish parties and expensive gifts.

When both of you finally sat down you were aware of the people inside the large room, and where you both were sitting. He decided to choose two seats in the back, and instantly you were on high alert, staring at the many heads in the front and counting each one of them. No, he wouldn’t try anything right here, even if they were faced away from her. Despite your nerves you both carry on a conversation before the movie started, something that almost made you forget what you were here for. It was...strange, to enjoy talking to your stalker. Again, you started to wonder if you were losing your marbles.

The movie soon began and you suddenly remember the genre, a suspense thriller, and it was rated R for a reason. The movie should have been a horror for all the blood that was spilled, and for gruesome deaths you could hear Ryan giving a hearty chuckle, putting your mind back in the present. Although, the longer you watched the more you began to whisper to him how wrong each and every death was and how it should have been done, unabashedly critiquing the movie in itself and its various unrealistic deaths. He didn’t seem to mind at all, listening intently and encouraging you. Near the end you found yourself snorting in amusement at the way the main characters were trying desperately not to die, not catching yourself as you fully entertained thoughts of how they would get killed, relaying them to Ryan while Ryan offered his own assumptions.

In the end you were eventually proven right on how they were going to die, going so far as to laugh and yell _ “I KNEW IT” _, and it was then that you realized what the hell you were just doing. You feel the nervousness come back as you realized you and Ryan were both enjoying the movie a little too much and making small bets on every death, and the sick fascination that you and him were getting along way too well during a murder film.

No, that couldn’t be your sanity slipping, that was just being caught up in the moment. You sober up completely as both of you leave the theatre, looking over to Ryan, who had a happy smile on his face.

“I believe that was the best time I ever spent watching a movie.” He said then, looking back at you, “The company made the experience memorable.”

You find yourself blushing again, something that you couldn’t control in the slightest. “I...actually had fun too.” You admit quietly, still trying to think about how that affected you mentally. You take a deep breath and smile at him, this was the moment was it?

“Maybe we can continue it at your place.” You offer, trying your best smirk. He seems to think about that idea for a moment, as if it was something to consider, before grinning back at you.

“I would love to.” He held out his arm, “My car is this way.”

You take his arm, allowing him to lead you to his car. You came here by taxi anyway. You casually glance around to wonder if the civilians on the street were cops or just regular people, looking back to him when you reach your destination. Like the psychotic gentleman he was, he opened the door for you. You took your seat and flashed him another smile, running your hands on your upper legs and feeling the material underneath, moving back and forth out of slight nervousness. When he finally gets in you quickly stop and try to relax, because he wasn’t really going to kill you tonight, was he?

He would have tried that a long time ago if that were the case, like in that alley, for example.

The car ride is quiet, but only broken by his humming. He was humming a fairly identifiable song, “Paint it Black” by The Rolling Stones. It shouldn’t have sounded so soothing to you, but you found yourself enjoying it. You know you had to break the silence, however.

“Ryan...I feel like we’ve met before.” You begin, because you were honestly curious. “Before the coffee shop. Your voice, your eyes, everything’s familiar.”

His eyes seem to brighten at the comment, “I believe you might be right, Kate, but I would prefer to talk about it back at my place. But yes, you seem familiar to me as well.”

You give him a hesitant smile, allowing the silence to overtake you both again. Your eyes linger on the rear view mirror, watching the rest of the traffic. You wonder if the car behind you was one of the cops, but you weren’t sure. By now the sun was replaced with the moon--or the lack of, the city’s lights dotting the night sky and giving the city a warm glow to anyone who was out and about. Ryan drives you past everything you know, away from anything you could be slightly acquainted with. Everything in this part of town was a mystery to you. It looked like it was on the industrial side of town, the skyscrapers and night life slowly transforming into heavy duty factory buildings and railroads. You honestly look confused, the longer you go, your eyes on the side mirror but spotting nothing following Ryan’s car.

“I’ve never been on this side of Achievement City.” You say then, needing to give information to whoever was listening. “What is this, the industrial side of town?”

Ryan chuckled quietly, “Perhaps. My place isn’t that conventional.” He explained quickly.

“Given how you look, I first took you to be living in the suburbs with a wife and three kids, a golden retriever and possibly a cat.”

Ryan laughs at your words, and you frown. “That’s what I thought when I first saw you.” You said defensively. He was shaking his head by now, clearly amused with your assumption.

“You’re far from correct, Kate.” He finally turns into a parking lot to a white building, there seemed to be two floors. It was completely nondescript, something you could easily pass by without thinking. You know it’s time to get out when he shuts the car off and leaves. Stubbornly, you stay inside of the car, feeling slightly nervous.

“This is a very undisclosed location.” You tell him. He only smiles at you as he opened your side of the door.

“I enjoy my privacy. Apartments are quite...annoying. You can hear just about anyone and anything, the walls are nearly paper.” He took your hand and leads you to the single door upstairs on the second floor of the building. “I can’t imagine how you put up with it, really. You’re sandwiched inside that small building with fifty or so other neighbors. I can’t imagine your secrets remaining secret.”

You step in when he unlocks the door, expecting something like out of that horror movie but what you get instead is a not-so-clean bachelor pad, almost like a studio apartment. It was the antithesis of how Ryan looked at all, the fold-out couch with a hastily made bed, lack of decoration and tons of boxes, an impressive computer setup at the farthest wall, a kitchenette off to the side but it didn’t even look that nice, and another door to what you thought lead to the bathroom.

“It looks…”

“Spacious and private.” Ryan said before you can finish your words. “The rent is low and I can do what I want, when I want. The landlord doesn’t really care what I do as long as I don’t blow the place up or set it on fire.”

You hesitantly nod, “It’s very quiet too.” It was almost the place someone could take another person and know that their screams wouldn’t alert anyone else, a place where a murder could take place and no one would know. You swallow thickly, feeling that knife you keep strapped to your ankle. You made sure not to go out without some kind of protection.

“I mean what I say, Kate, wouldn’t you rather live in a private area, away from onlookers? I’m sure you have things you wouldn’t want anyone to find.” He grinned slightly, “Weapons, for example.”

Here it goes, then.

You turn to him, “We know each other, do we?” You were done playing stupid, remembering the very moment they crossed paths. “Saudi Arabia, it was August and I was enjoying some tea in the restaurant next to the hotel, and you approached me because I was the only table with another chair free.”

“I was waiting for you to remember.” Ryan grinned fully now, “You told me you were a tourist, but that wasn’t the truth was it? You were alone in that city, tourists often are in groups. I do believe your name wasn’t really Kate at that time, but Laura.”

“You weren’t on a business trip either.” You continue, circling him, remembering the second time they ran into each other. “You were my rival. I was to assassinate a diplomat, and I barely got my shot in before I heard you. We were on the same street, but a different roof. I remember those eyes.”

“I also remember your face. The way you smirked at me like you had won a game, leaving as quickly as you appeared. I couldn’t really forget that. You’re so elusive, you know that? You never stay in the same city for longer than six months, but it was so strange that you kept on staying here. What possessed you to stay in this place? Was it that neighbor of yours?”

You narrow your eyes slightly, “Leave Ray out of this.”

“It’s too late.” Ryan smiled earnestly, “He’s already been pulled into this. You see, I can’t really stand it when someone other than me gets closer to who I’ve been looking for. It’s a shame, really. He wouldn’t have died if he just kept his distance.”

There it was, the full admission of guilt. Not that he was guilty of doing this, not in the slightest. You suddenly want to avenge Ray’s death. Ray’s and Gavin’s and Michael’s… you would take so much pleasure in killing him in cold blood.

That in itself made you lose your train of thought. You weren’t here to kill him, you were here to capture him, let the FBI take him. Where the fuck was Agent Tuggey, where the fuck was Agent Ramsey? You look back at the door, trying to hear a siren.

“They’re not going to find us, (Y/N).” Ryan let out that laugh again, a brief but strong and cold cackle that fully expressed his amusement.

“How the fuck do you know that?” You snarled, the temptation to stab him was rising.

“I highly doubt they can do anything without their fallen leader.” He reached out and offered his hand, “Care to follow?”

You glare at that hand and back at his eyes, the deceivingly kind eyes that looked colder now than they did when you first met him. He looked less like the Old Navy dad and more like a crazed psychopath. “What makes you think you can keep me here?” You ask, “What makes you think I’ll let you live?”

Ryan chuckled again, “(Y/N) let’s be logical here. If you leave, then Ramsey dies, and anyone else that attempts to replace him. Also, I highly doubt that you’ll kill me. You and I, we’re very much alike. All I’m asking from you is clean cut cooperation, but we both know how fragile your mind has been getting as of late.”

Your eye twitches slightly, flinching away from him quickly, “W-what?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been seeing them, the ghosts. The figments of the dead that were suddenly around you. That’s how it starts, kill enough people and suddenly you start to see them everywhere you go. It’s an obvious example of a psychological breakdown.”

Just as he said it you wince, starting to see _ them _. They were there, but you couldn’t hear them. They seemed to be paying attention to you, but try as you might you couldn’t read their lips. Before her, Ryan seemed to smile knowingly, “You’re seeing them now, I take it. There’s a pretty good cure for that.”

“I knew ghosts weren’t fucking real.” You run your hand through your hair, looking back at him. His hand was still out, a silent offering. Tentatively, you reach out and take it, his hand was still warm and calloused, keeping a firm grip on yours. He leads you to a staircase and you quietly follow him down into the first floor. There was plastic lining the floors, a single table with plastic over it holding various tools, mostly knives. On a nearby rack were guns in various sizes and calibres. You could hear a muffled cry and turn your attention to a smaller room off to the side. Ryan makes a faint ‘heh’ sound and leads you to the room, opening the door and exposing Agent Ramsey, bound and gagged, staring wide-eyed and desperate once he sees you standing at Ryan’s side.

“When…” You trail off, looking up at Ryan.

“Before I headed out for our date. He was right, you know, I’m always one step ahead of them.” He let go of your hand, “There’s a perfectly good way to get rid of those ghosts, (Y/N). It’s pretty simple.” He steps away from you and goes to the table, his fingers tracing various knives until he finds the right one. He smiles at the reflection the knife gives him, going back over to you and offering the weapon. “Have you ever thought of letting yourself go?”

It was the same thing he said to you on that very night. Your eyes flickered up to him, and then down to the knife. It would be so easy to take that...and just stab him… The blood would be warm, like every other kill you had. Warm and slick. The more you thought about the details of his death the more sickening the images became, only then you realized that you were actually fantasizing about death. It sounded...pleasant.

“You know, it was hard for me too.” He continued, watching you, “I couldn’t understand why everyone I killed had been appearing to me, and the more I killed the more ghosts I would see. I honestly thought that it was my guilt. But then, one day I just...decided to let that go, the rules, the morality, the sense of it. I went about it another way, I began killing for pleasure instead for pay. It’s pretty thrilling, hunting down someone who has no clue that their life is going to end at any second. It’s a rush, it’s a high like no other.” He leaned in to whisper into your ear, “It’s possibly better than sex.”

You take a sharp inhale, and suddenly the knife is flipped around, the hilt facing you while his fingers were holding the knife steadily. You stare at it, your hands in comparison to his own were twitching anxiously. You remembered the movie you were watching, how it seemed so...fun. It was fun watching people die in so many different ways, it was fun whispering to Ryan on how it should have been done. It was exciting to enjoy it, you were never so stress-free in your life in those two hours.

Geoff kept staring at you, shaking his head and trying to plea from behind the gag in his mouth. It was obvious what he wanted to say. _ “Don’t do this.” “Please think about this.” “If you kill me there’s no going back.” _

In the same room, you could also see those figments of your imagination, the ghosts that you shared your apartment with. They were still trying to speak, but their voices were just a low buzz, filtered through white noise. You hadn’t noticed your hand go for the knife, and Ryan’s hand combing through your hair. He seemed like he knew you were on the edge, just waiting for you to take the plunge. You would finally let go and he would finally get what he wanted.

Every King needs a Queen.

Your thoughts were conflicting, two sides struggling for dominance. Your sanity, your morality, and the freedom of pleasure, the happy thought of death and dismemberment. You hold the knife firmly, stepping forward. Geoff’s irises had shrunk, his eyes more blue than they were when you first met, the fear of death tingling up his spine like a horrible shock to his system. You found that you like that reaction, and you smile.

The sound of a crazy and dark laugh filled the room as you fell from the edge, filling your senses as you finally gave in to your temptation. His voice was still silky and strong, almost black.

Like coffee.


End file.
